Gold Dragon 3
Gold Dragon 3 is an encounter in Civil War. Enemies * Rebel Archmage (100 Gold, 100 XP, 100 Energy, 2/3/3 HP) * Rebel Spirit Mage (100 Gold, 100 XP, 100 Energy, 2/3/3 HP) Transcript Introduction "Taking hostages," Ranlatta said. "I thought a Celwer Bloodwyn would have more honor than that." The air was cooling now, clouds gathering. Lighter masses loomed overhead. Darker ones in the distance promised rain. The captain sighed. If her soldiers had to march through a downpour, they would. But they wouldn't be happy about it. "Make no mistake," Zandon said, "she's an honorable woman. She'll threaten to kill them if we attack, of course-" "How honorable..." "But I suspect she'd do nothing of the sort. She wants to force a stalemate, and have them to hand if she needs to arrange an exchange of prisoners later." Ranlatta stared at the masked man. Now that she knew he and the Purple Tigers hadn't come to murder her, curiosity had replaced anxiety. He'd taken charge in Cyrwood -- interrupting the beatings Carmath had been dishing out and instead trying to extract information through careful words alone. Threats enveloped in the promise of clemency if they capitulated. When that didn't prove quite adequate, he executed the one who'd held the crossbow. Captain Ranlatta wasn't a vengeful or bloodthirsty woman. But she'd had no qualms about that. It was a quicker death than the one he'd meant for her. Afterwards, the others talked. They told the soldiers about Dido Celwer Bloodwyn's base in Shrenton, apparently a settlement further north -- though Ranlatta had never heard of it. The place where she was keeping her prisoners. And so the captain's force had set out across the countryside, leaving a small group behind with the prisoners and those too badly wounded to travel. "We can't just march into the village," Ranlatta said. "If she really has Countess Francisca and the others..." "As I said, she won't murder them in cold blood." "And if you're wrong, you'll be explaining that to the general. With a noose round your neck. Her family's powerful." "We can't march into Shrenton." "I thought that'd change your-" "It's a walled village. From the days when settlements in this region were at risk of barbarian attacks." Again Ranlatta stared. "We won't reach it today," he continued. "We'll have to make camp. That means-" "Night attacks," she said. "Yes. Ours or theirs." "Ours?" "Dido isn't a fool. She'll have pockets of fighters scattered around the area, waiting for their chance to harry us. If we find them first, we can eliminate them." *** Captain Ranlatta walked around the campfires, checking on her troops, ensuring that the sentries were doing their work. In the deepening dusk the fires would be seen for miles around. But their presence was no secret. And if they were lucky, foes would fixate on those flames instead of the surrounding darkness... She was at the edge of their position, gazing into the gloom, when a twig snapped behind her. "I thought assassins were meant to be stealthy," she said. "I didn't want to startle you," Zandon said. "We'll make our move soon." "Good hunting, Tiger." "I'll need your help. My people will spread out and find their positions. But I'll need more for the attack parties, especially if they're scattered." "Night fighting's dangerous. Most of us aren't trained for that kind of mission." "Pick a handful who are. You're with me." "But-" "The general told you to assist me, didn't he?" Ranlatta sighed. *** The night was theirs, at least for now -- while they were the predators instead of the prey. Clouds had taken the moon and darkened the landscape. Pattering rain chilled their bones but muffled their footsteps. Yes, this was their night. And if Ranlatta was lucky it wouldn't be her last. She felt naked in just leathers, without her mail. But clinking chain rings weren't forged to be stealthy. Symric and the others she'd picked out were lightly armored too, their blades darkened in case the clouds parted and the moon tried to betray them with its silver shafts. Zandon was beside her, another Purple Tiger scouting up ahead. The two of them had inspected her chosen fighters before they set out. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought the subordinate had been the one who gave an almost imperceptible nod first. Her makeshift mask did little to keep the rain out. It soaked into the fabric and froze her cheeks. And the ground was becoming muddy underfoot, her boots skidding and sliding when she wasn't careful. It was miserable going. But even so, there was something thrilling about this unfamiliar work. And when Zandon slipped and fell onto one knee, she even had to suppress a laugh. Perhaps the Tigers' prowess was exaggerated after all. They'd been trekking through the shadows for an age, an eon of icy blackness, when their scout emerged from the night -- invisible until he appeared in their midst. He didn't speak. He made gestures instead, but their meaning was clear. Enemies close by. The assassin led them onward, towards a copse of trees, motioning for them to crouch and crawl. Voices, subdued as they were, reached them from behind the foliage. Ranlatta peered through the bushes as best she dared without risking a telltale rustle. Five shapes sat huddled around a tiny bronze brazier. It emitted no light save for the faintest blue glow -- but the arcane flames must have provided heat, for some of them were pressing their hands towards it. Two of them were robed. And since robes were inconvenient garments for negotiating the muddy countryside, she assumed they were spellcasters whose profession caused them to shun the trousers which more sensible individuals might have worn. "I'm freezing," said one member of the gathering. A gnome. The brazier shifted towards him. "Oi!" A robed woman reached out and pulled it back. "Let's make our move, before we catch our deaths!" "They'll still be awake." "Damn it..." A soft hand pressed on Ranlatta's flank. She turned around. Zandon tilted his head towards the other Tiger, who was pointing his finger at the bushes and gesturing. The captain took his meaning and shook her head. She made gestures of her own. The two Purple Tigers looked at one another. Again it was the subordinate who nodded first. Ranlatta glanced at each of her own people, made sure they were ready, and braced herself. Conclusion The Tiger's knife whirled through the air and caught the gnome in the side of his head. It penetrated hood, bone, and brain. He fell sideways without making a sound. The other rebels leapt to their feet and started yelling, but their eyes were still gazing in the wrong direction -- at the corpse -- when the soldiers crashed through the bushes. Zandon's sword felled the robed woman before she could scream in pain, much less cast a spell. Ranlatta slashed and thrust, putting down the other caster. Symric cut a burly warrior's throat. The fifth enemy tried to run. He didn't even make it three paces before as many blades found his flesh. "What made you pick the gnome?" Zandon whispered, when the killing was done. "He didn't look like much of a threat." "He was a spirit mage," Ranlatta said. She pointed at the brazier. "I saw him move that without touching it. If he was a powerful one, he could've snatched our weapons out of our hands just by thinking about it!" Zandon said nothing, but he appeared to be satisfied. Their band crossed the dark landscape in silence and made their way back. Category:Civil War